


The Forest Sleeps

by AmicusArtemScribentius



Series: The Legend of Zelda: Dreams of the Sleeping Goddess [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Coming of Age, Early death but it gets better, Female Link (Legend of Zelda), First long-form work of many, Ganon is a good guy, Link is Kokiri, Lore-heavy, Multi, Spiritual, The Triforce, Unofficial Sequel, Zelda is a literal ninja, epic fantasy style
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-07-15 05:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16056056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmicusArtemScribentius/pseuds/AmicusArtemScribentius
Summary: Book 1 of "The Legend of Zelda: Dreams of the Sleeping Goddess.A kingdom of deep history and deeper magic. A world asleep on the verge of awaking.A Hylian princess pursues the mysteries of her kingdom. A Gerudo prince begins his journey as a leader of his people. A Kokiri fairy child wakes from a dream to a world she must one day help save.An origin tale of the three chosen by the Triforce before their paths cross.





	1. Vines That Bind

### Chapter 1: Vines That Bind

“Hey!”  
Below the grassy heartland of Hyrule, caught in the crooked embrace of the Hylatian Range and the Warena river, not quite so south as the broken isles of the Moblin tribes, lay the Great Forest of the fairy children, the Kokiri. The children of the forest are known to few beyond the impenetrable green, but some facts have been retained in the annals of Rufus Alltext, Chronicler of the Fourth Era. For one, the Kokiri have never been known to leave the forest. There was one piece of suggestive material from just after the Second Cataclysm, but there is no evidence to suggest the individual described as having appeared from the forest was himself Kokiri.  
“Hey! Link!”  
It is believed that the reason for the Kokiri's isolation has to do with their guardian, the Great Deku Tree: a large, sentient plant older the forest itself. The full extent of the relationship between the Kokiri, the Deku, and the fairies, is completely unknown. While few Kokiri have ever been observed by any eye alien to the Great Forest, none appeared older than 12 by Hylian standards. This leads one to believe that the Kokiri are always children, but where they come from and whether or not they live forever is unknown.  
“Link! Wake! Up!”  
Deep in the Great Forest, on the edges of the most peaceful region known, quite reasonably, as the Kokiri Wood, there awoke, in a treehouse, a young girl. Above her head flew a small ball of green light. Upon closer examination—which would be quite uncalled for and very rude—one would see that the ball was in the shape of a tiny winged person, tattooed in a long forgotten language from head to toe, and seemingly all of a single, indiscernible glowing substance. Link squinted and swatted aimlessly above her, neither intending to nor managing to hit the small fairy, and turned away into a curled ball.  
“Brill,” she grumbled, turning into a yawn. “It's so early.”  
“It's nearly noon!” he retorted, hovering over the girl's eyes and inciting another feeble swipe. “And there's something going on in the village. Everyone is gathering in the green.”  
Link let out a groan that defied translation and shifted herself into a sitting position. She blinked open her sharp blue eyes, still crusted with sleep. Stretching until her elbows cracked and untangling a few knots in her dirty-blond hair, she staggered out of bed towards the water basin.  
“What's that about, do you think?” She asked, splashing luke-warm water on her face. She grabbed a pine-needle brush and ran it through her hair, catching any remaining nests made in the night. “Is it Farore Day?”  
“Not for another month,” said the fairy. Link could never quite see Brill's face—or the place his face ought to be—but she could always tell what expression would be there if she could. Right now: deep, worried concern. “We should get there as quick as we can.”  
Link nodded but dallied in dressing and pulling on her roughly sewn boots. Despite Brill's constant pushing, Link walked calmly towards the green, thinking—not for the first time—how silly it was to call any one space in the Great Forest 'the green' when all of it was, if not brown, grey, or the solid blue of the sky, green. Although there were the flowers, and the fruits, and some creepers which grew red or violet, and the Deku shrubs which gathered the dead leaves of many years and were always wearing some combination of red, orange, and yellow. She decided, with its not only being wholly but consistently the same shade of green, that maybe calling it the green was not so outlandish, at least retrospectively. But she would like to ask of the thinking of whomever first decided to call it that.  
Distracted by her thoughts, Link had not noticed the quiet bridge that always lulled over the forest around noon was raising quickly into a crescendo of shouts and crying. Rounding the bend, Link is passed by Brada, a girl both shorter and larger than Link, with autumn hair and winter eyes. She was followed quickly by her fairy, Frit, a doting, meticulous creature who glowed a pale violet. Brada and Frit were both shouting “Shina!” and “Hori!” and didn't seem to notice Link more than to determine she was not whom they were shouting after.  
Now entering the green, Link saw Saria at the centre of a small cluster of Kokiri, Coz, a lighter, periodot green, orchestrating a similar formation with the fairies a few feet above their heads.  
“...hold a perimeter around the village. Dartz, Blaine, you should go check around the Deku Tree and spiral out from there. And check if he's seen her recently. Oh! Link!” Her soft, moss-topped head bounced above Blaine as he and Dartz headed north towards the Great Deku Tree. She closed the gap between them, gesturing the only two left of the dispersed crowd—Mido and Fado—and waving good luck to those leaving. “Perfect timing!”  
“What's going on,” Link asked.  
“Shina never came home last night,” said Saria. “These two say they were playing hide-and-seek near the Lost Woods but couldn't find her.” She eyed them, cross.  
“We thought she just went home,” said Mido.  
“We checked when we got back but she wasn't there,” said Fado.  
“We asked the Great Deku Tree what to do and he said to go to sleep and wait until morning.”  
“We wanted to keep looking, but you know what happens when it gets dark.”  
“Yes,” interjected Saria, “and that is why you should have kept looking.”  
The boys shrank, looking down in unison. Mido and Fado were no more siblings than any other two Kokiri, but they always acted as a single unit. Everything either would say would always include the other since the other was always there when anything worth mentioning happened. Their fairies, Stum and Chum, were the exact same hue of orange-yellow, and would speak in perfect unison when they'd ever speak at all. Fairies rarely spoke to those aside from their bonded Kokiri, and those two more rarely still.  
“So,” said Saria, putting on an air of determination, “the eight of us are going to into the Lost Woods and look for her. While it's still daylight.”  
Mido and Fado grimaced.  
“The Lost Woods?” Link asked.  
“Yup,” said Saria.  
“The same Lost Woods that run backwards instead or forwards depending which way you're going?”  
“Yup again.”  
“The Lost Woods full of every dangerous thing short of Moblins?”  
Saria nodded. “The very same.”  
“And you want us to go in there, not knowing for sure if Shina is even in there?”  
“Not at night,” said Saria. “Unless the lot of you want to keep wasting time complaining until then, in which case I welcome the company.” She paused, lifted her hand, and let it fall. “Look. Shina is one of us. She's lost and alone and probably really scared. And it's all of our responsibilities,” she eyed the boys, “to see her home safe. Besides, she's probably just got herself turned around. They are the Lost Woods, after all.”  
Link scrunched her face. This wasn't how she'd planned on spending her day—she usually did her best to stay as far away from anything that might cause her any harm or worry. The Lost Woods were practically made of both of those things: Deku-Babas—viscous carnivorous vines—and feral Deku shrubs and the mysterious Skull Kids with their tamed boogeymen bound to service by invisible strings. Brill sensed her worries and settled down by her ear.  
“Link, she's your friend. I know it's dangerous, but you'll have your friends to look out for you. You know I'd never let anything happen to you, right?”  
Link thought about it. She saw the fear on the boys' faces, and thought, for a second, a glimpse of the very same beneath Saria's. She couldn't let them go on their own, even f she was scared herself.  
“Sounds like a plan,” she said. Saria beamed. Mido and Fado, while still timid and frightened, eased up in their shoulders. “When are we leaving?”

Link was glad she took her time waking up that morning. The Lost Woods were not especially forgiving of dulled wits. Many plants absorbed the quality of the mists that made it easy for people to forget why they were there; it was so concentrated in their sweetened flesh that anyone who ate them would fall asleep instantly.  
“Not that you'd need any help with that,” said Brill, explaining to Link why she couldn't just grab a snack from any old tree. Fairies seemed to ward off most of the adverse effects of the Lost Woods, but it helped to keep as clear a head as possible.  
This was still difficult. That particular section of the forest was especially flat, the trees especially close together, especially equidistant. The mist painted strange faces in the trees and the rustling of feral shrubs miles away seemed at once near enough taste because of how the air carried sound. There was also something else in the air. Not quite a rustle or shake, but less clear than a voice.  
“Is that music,” Link thought aloud.  
“Oh no, Link is hearing things!” said Mido.  
“We need to get her out of here before she won't let us!” said Fado, moving cautiously toward Link.  
“No wait,” said Saria, blocking Fado from moving closer. “I hear it too.” She had her head tilted in the same direction as Link. Mido and Fado did the same, their eyes opening wide as they heard what could only be music, and a jubilant song at that.  
“What is it?” asked Mido and Fado. They looked up to Stum and Chum who whispered to them.  
“Brill?”said Link, looking up to the pine green fairy above her.  
“I'm not sure,” he said. “Probably just Skull Kids. They tend to be harmless, despite their . . . unsavoury appearance. They seem to be pretty fond of music.”  
“What do you mean by 'unsavoury'?”  
“Well,” Brill trailed off. “Maybe you'll see but then, maybe you won't. No need to frighten you needlessly. Just know they won't hurt you.” He paused. “Intentionally,” he added.  
Link looked to Saria who heard something similar, and then to the boys who looked edgy and wired, like lute-strings out of tune.  
“Saria,” Link asked.  
“They may have seen Shina. They're the only things in this neck of the woods likely to talk to us, in any case, so we might as well check them out.”  
Link nodded, but Mido and Fado looked terrified at what they were hearing.  
Mido squeaked, “but what if they were the ones who took Shina?”  
Fado squealed. “And what if they decide to take us next!”  
Saria turned to them sharply. “Who said she was taken? I thought she just wandered off?”  
The boys looked stricken now, instinctively grabbing the others' hand. “We didn't--” they both stammered incomprehensibly. Stum and Chum hovered between them and Saria.  
“We didn't see her taken,” they said, perfectly synchronized. If not for Chum's slight baritone, there would be no telling there were two speaking. “But we think she was.”  
This time it was Link who spoke up first. “And why is that? Who would do that?”  
“Because Shina and Hori were the ones seeking,” they said. “She was calling for us, but then she wasn't. There was no decline in her voice. She was calling for us, and then she wasn't. It was too early for the Deku-Baba to have woken up, so she must have been grabbed. And silenced.”  
All were silent. Stum and Chum were much more blunt than Brill or Coz, and Link was unsure what to make of their cool certainty. But there was thing that bothered her. It bothered Saria first.  
“Then why didn't you tell anyone this sooner?” she demanded. “If we'd known that we could have focused our attention here, not hoping she just got lost on her way home!”  
The boys tried to mumble out an excuse, but tears overwhelmed their speech. Their fairies interjected on their behalf. “It was the Great Deku Tree. He didn't want to start a panic. He said it was better if we just kept our spirits high and do our best like that. We think he knew.”  
“Knew what happened, you mean?” Link was growing more concerned by the second. What could be so dangerous that the Great Deku Tree would feel he had to protect them from even knowing about it? Mido and Fado continued to sob. Link turned her head to hear the music. It gathered a new flavour to her ear. A malevolence. She looked to Saria who met her eyes. They both nodded.  
“All the more reason to learn what they know,” she said. Coz hovered around her. “I am in agreement with the young lady,” he said in his usual gallant manner.  
“Same here,” said Link, and Brill fluttered in consensus. She looked at the boys who had since turned white.  
“No,” whispered Mido. Fado did not say anything at all. He pulled on Mido's arm and stepped back. Stum and Chum paused before them, spoke only to them, and then addressed the rest.  
“We will take them back to the village and return to the Great Deku Tree. If you are not back by sundown, we will go over his head if we must to bring you home.”  
“Thank you,” said Saria. She looked upset, but kept the fear down. Link could still see it, though. It was the same fear of Mido and Fido, the same fear she herself felt. What did she know about the Skull Kids? Did they abduct Shina? Might they steal her away too?  
“Those aren't the sort of things you need to worry about now,” said Brill. Link looked up to him. She saw the worry in his tremble, but it wasn't in facing the enigmatic Skull Kids. It was more personal. Link understood. She was many things: lazy, irresponsible, often rude and always late. But she knew when things needed to be taken seriously. Not how or why, but when, and now was undeniably that time. Link breathed a deep breath and looked up to Saria who was doing the same.  
“Shall we?” Link asked.  
“We shall,” she replied.

Very little is known about the mischievous Skull Kids: amoral inhabitants of the Lost Woods. They rarely leave the abstract borders of their domain and almost never so much as glance in the direction of the Kokiri children, as if the very idea of them was foreign, untranslatable into thought. The human town at the edge of the Great Forest, Ordana, devoted a festival each autumn to appeasing the frightening little sprites, tying cow and goat skulls to trees at the edge of their Wood. Some even leave scarecrows and dolls in their image; while the skulls remain, the dolls are never seen again.  
Neither are the local children foolish enough to enter the misty, labyrinthine Wood.  
Link and Saria quietly followed the strange music to its source. They hid Brill and Coz in their shirts as to not give themselves away, just in case the musicians really were as nefarious as Stum and Chum believed. The sound was not threatening—it fluttered like a fallen leaf in the breeze, trickled down like a hidden stream, leaving a gold yet also green hand-print on the heart. But still, the Kokiri children were cautious. They had never come into contact with a Skull Kid before. They just knew the stories, that the Great Deku Tree thought they were trouble.  
Stepping lightly on soft swaths of open soil, islands in the sea of dry leaf carpeting, they came to a sudden depression in the earth. It was a wide copse: light filtered in across the small pond fed by the ground water, while at its shore rested a wide, broken oak with many thick, low branches. From these narrow stages two figures played across the water with reed pipes, melody in harmony then counterpoint, slowly folding back into harmony. Persuaded by the music, Link smiled, trying harder to see the tune in the air rather than the players in the tree. Saria saw the musicians first, and had to subdue a gasp.  
The Skull Kids were not very big or terrifying from a distance. They each wore colourful clothes made of pied rags and autumn leaves, hats made of feathers and sac-cloth, and bark sandals. If not for their subtle yet equally vivacious dancing, they would have blended seamlessly with the surrounding forest. This potential for anonymity, once realized in the context of their forms, sent shivers down Saria's spine. For Skull Kids were, quite literally, skeletal. They had no flesh nor skin to speak of. Their faces could hold no expression but the uncanny guffaw of the jawless skulls hovering obediently above their shoulders.  
Saria nudged Link, who was still too entranced by the music to have looked closely at the two playing below them. She ruefully looked towards the oak, squinted, and started back. Brill shifted in her tunic to peak out before slipping back in.  
“Stay low,” he hissed, barely above the softest whisper.  
The music stopped.  
Link and Saria hugged the soil, as if they could sink into the earth by sheer force of will. Brill gave off a faint whimper of apology. Link stared at the two sprites in the oak tree, ready to pull Saria up and bolt at any moment.  
But the just floated around the tree, shaking their heads.  
“You hold your third notes too long,” said the one. It had a canter to its voice, like a jog down an unfamiliar path. But it had no face to speak of, thus no mouth.  
“And you rush your movements,” said the other. This one sounded shrill as a winter night, and cast a chill in the air around them. Link thought she could see frost form at the edge of the pond, but it was gone a moment later. “It is not a race. To never rushes. To always keeps pace.”  
The one rose angrily. “Well why don't you play with To?”  
“You know why, La,” grumbled the other. “To is playing with the fairy girl in the east wood.” It let out a sad, mournful sound. “He hasn't been himself for days. Hasn't played his pipes in weeks.” The Skull Kid named La floated close to the other.  
“Ro . . . I'm sorry.” La raised a hand to the distraught Ro. “We can play aga–.” Ro flinched.  
“No. No, that's enough.” Ro floated up out of the copse. “Tomorrow,” he added, then flew to the north. The air grew a little warmer.  
Link was shocked. The Skull Kids seemed so Kokiri-like, unlike anything anyone said about them. A vision clouded Link's mind: Saria and her, sitting by the creek in the village, taking turns playing the instruments they traded from Laurel. They didn't seem nefarious or malicious or malevolent at all. They might even be willing to help find Shina. Link shifted to stand up.  
“Saria,” he whispered. “Do you still have your ocarina?”  
Saria grabbed Link's tunic and kept her down. “Now isn't the time for music.” Link gave her a quizzical look. Of course it's time for music, she thought, but Saria was still watching the one named La. Link turned back.  
La was floating over the pond, slowly, dazedly. Then, out of the blue, a heavy figure fell from the treetops and struck the tree at the pond's edge. There was a deafening crack as the tree was split jaggedly in two. Bits fell in and around the pool, muddying the water and filling the void left by the sweet music with destruction and regret. The figure disappeared. La did not look at what damage lay below. The Skull Kid just flew off to the West, quickly, but without purpose.  
Link was shaken. Saria looked the same. The two were too stunned to speak at first, but Saria eventually broke the silence.  
“What were you thinking?” she demanded, though not as loudly as she would were they not so deep in the Lost Woods.  
“I didn't think they were that,” but Link couldn't finish. She saw the danger now. All of them were in grave danger so long as they were in the Lost Woods. Shina, certainly, most of all.  
“Now we do,” said Saria dismissively. “Coz,” she muttered into her shirt as the pale green fairy rose out into the open air. Brill emerged from beneath Link's right after. “Where are we now and how far to the eastern quarter of the Lost Woods? We should spend what time we have left before dusk looking there.”  
“We're still in the southern quarter, to my knowledge,” he said, voice cracking on the first note. He was clearly as worried as they were, even though fairies were a lot more difficult to read. “It would be quickest to head due east from here and work our way north from the corner of the Wood. That path will take us right near the village.” He emphasized the last.  
“Due east it is, then,” said Saria. “Link?”  
“East. Right,” Link agreed. But she was no longer sure they should be out in these woods. Deku-Baba were one thing—vicious certainly, but those only came out at night, and could not survive more than a minute off their vines. But these Skull Kids. Link turned back down towards the remains of the little copse. The mud was starting to settle.  
She shared an uneasy look with Brill, and followed Saria into the mists.

They found Shina an hour before full-dark.  
Or rather, Hori, Shina's fairy, found them. The small creature was flickering frantic, her usual pale blue glimmer lined with an anxious yellow. She could barely get words out, and instead gestured the others to follow her towards the edge of the Lost Woods, only a half hour trip from the Kokiri Forest, but well beyond the limits of Hori's range—fairy's are incapable of abandoning their Kokiri partner, just as Kokiri cannot be separated from their fairies.  
She guided them to a tree like all the others, this one bulging around the middle. In the fading twilight, Link and Saria were blind to what they were being shown. Hori circled the tree, splashing light on the uneven surface. Link caught what it was they were looking at first.  
It was Shina. At least, it was her underneath what looked like dozens of tightly wound vines. Little of her was showing through the tangle—her small hand near the top of the cluster, a sliver of shin to the side. And something else. Something . . . wrong.  
“Shina!” Saria cried, realizing what she was looking at. Link instinctively held out his arm, blocking Saria from diving after her. “What are you doing? We need to get her out of there.”  
Link shook her head. “Look at the vines.”  
Saria peered closely and gasped as faint tremors rippled through the clusters. Listening, she heard the soft hissing of soft vines slithering over one another, missed by her own heartbeat, heavy breathing, and growing desperation.  
“Deku-Baba,” she whispered. She looked Link in the eyes. Their green had grown pale as her face, almost grey. Hopeless. Hori continued to spiral around the tree, as if her small light could keep the voracious monsters asleep despite the late hour. The four of them watched in silence, not knowing what to say or do.  
“We need to do something,” Saria said at last.  
“There is no–,” Coz began.  
“We need to do something!” Saria repeated. Her hands were clenched into fists. Nobody said anything. For a few passing moments, all that could be heard was the hissing of the Deku-Baba, the electric frustration of Hori.  
A muffled whimper.  
Link's ear twitched at that. She peered up to the hand still just uncovered by the smothering vines. The fingers moved. Just barely, but enough to see.  
Saria's head jolted up as Link carefully approached the tree.  
“Link! What are you doing?” she hissed.  
“She's still alive in there. I can hear her. We need to pull the vines off her. That's why we came out here, isn't it?” Step by easeful step, Link shortened the space between her and the base of the tree. “We came looking for you, Shina,” she said as warmly as she could. She was as terrified if not more so than Saria, but there was nothing else to do but leave. “We're going to get you out of here.”  
Six steps from the tree. Five. The muffled voice of the trapped Kokiri grew more distinct, though still illegible.  
“You'll be okay, Shina,” said Saria, now approaching the tree as well, slower and more stiffly than Link, but resolved. “Link and I will bring you home.”  
Two steps. One.  
Link surreptitiously raised her hands to the vines near where Shina's face must be. They rippled and slithered more than anywhere else. Link could hear the soft murmur of Shina's voice now, clear but still not comprehensible. She touched the smooth-looking surface of the vine. While it moved like a snake it was not dry but sticky with sap and had tiny barbs so closely placed that it felt rough as sand. Link pulled her sleeves over her hands and pulled down on the vines. They came away more easily than expected but Link paid no mind—her entire focus was on freeing the frightened girl.  
Within seconds Link could make out Shina's forehead in the growing gloom. She took this as a good sign and pulled harder at the tangle. Bit by bit the vines came loose. Shina's face became visible, squirming as if trying to back away into the trunk beneath her. Her eyes were tired and wild, brimming with tears and her mumbles elevated to a frantic grumbling. Saria closed the distance between her and the other two, reassured in the sight of her friend. Link pulled away the last vine covering Shina's mouth.  
“RUN!” she screamed. “THEY'RE ALREADY AWAKE!”  
Link immediately became aware of how dark it had become. The sun had already set. The mist no longer held its soft golden glow. By instinct alone, Link swung her arms back as she turned from the tree, half-pulling Saria away as quickly as she could, narrowly avoiding the large reddish-brown mass that snapped at the void left by her head.  
Ten paces from the tree Link turned to the ongoing screams. There was a blur of snapping, of shrieking, the hiss of vines, the gurgling crunch of bones in a packed space. The high-pitched static of a fairy in distress.  
And a dark figure lurching from the trees, wrapped in a cloud of dead leaves, dry pine needles, and a scarf of thorns trailing in his wake.  
“My fairy!” the Skull Kid cried out. Hori, stumbled through the air, flinching only to look back at what remained of his friend, and hovered out into the darkening night. The Skull Kid followed closely, not even noticing Link and Saria cowering beneath, aloof to the dying screams.


	2. Chapter 2: Fly By Night

### 

Chapter Two: Fly by Night

 

They say the heart of Hyrule never truly sleeps. New Hylia, her castle spires aglow with starlight, her sprawling city—children at her feet, below the escarpment—pledging themselves to her by the light of the moon. Even in the silent hours, after the midnight tolls of a choir of churches but long before the first clamour of early baking and running and living, the heart still beats.

The heart is not New Hylia herself. The stone and steel and clay may seem to flicker with life deep in the night, but it sleeps with its eyes open. The famed streetlamps and fountains are always alight, always there for the sleepless lover, the stir-crazed isolate—the thief without devotion to the sun. The doors of the churches stay open as do the bars and inns and brothels, all eager for the loveless, the foolhardy, and the resolute. Even the castle guard, never less two-hundred armed soldiers, vigilant to the threat unseen, are not awake in earnest. They all are at rest. They are the city as much as the walls that contain her, but all await the dawn.

The heart of Hyrule is not something made of stone or people, geographical or societal. The heart beats in one steady rhythm, calm in the crisp cobalt and gold where the city lights fade into the sky, pulling the stars down to earth.

That constant beating, too reactive to be asleep but not known to be so, resonated with a dark form in a dark place. High above the streets of New Hylia, upon the shadowed rooftops beneath the impossibly tall towers of Hyrule Castle, that form hovered over the edge, taking in the beauty, the deceptive glamour, the unique scent of a city so decadent yet so pure in its appeal. She breathed in the beautiful lie, ensured the sac wrapped around her shoulders was on tightly, and dove into the sporadically lit courtyard six stories beneath.

The strained murmur of her hookshot ended in a sharp chortle, grasping at the eavestrough above moments before she stopped in midair, falling back to the wall of the castle with a soft impact. She listened to the sound of approaching guards, their torches announcing their presence as much as their hobnail boots on the flagstone. They entered the courtyard from the eastern archway, muttering to each other tiredly the daily gossip. Their eavesdropper remained indifferent. She watched them, almost annoyed by their ignorance of her presence, as they walked the full circumference almost twice, exiting via the northern archway. The figure waited until she could no longer hear their echoing footsteps, the disturbed shadows calm after the stirring of the torchlight. She repelled the rest of the way down the wall, retracted her hookshot which gleefully hummed as it returned to her, and followed the guards out at a distance, northward.

Beyond the short tunnel, the north gardens—the largest and most elaborate for miles—opened into a familiar hedge maze. Checking for guards and aware of the lack of of safety from the moon's light, the figure leaped into the maze, feeling her way through the dark paths by memory and scent where her sight failed her. Swiftly she stepped through the trellises and shrubs, around fountains and statuettes of Hylian figures and allies, never leaving more of a trace than the sleeping rabbits which called the gardens their home. She was careful, and she had to be. She was, after all, being followed.

The figure reached a dead end at the north wall of the castle grounds. A sturdy trellis covered half the space to the top of the wall, three of her height and again to the allure. She climbed around the vines which clung to the trellis—frolis grapes, ripe before their season. _The king will have midsummer wine by the end of spring_ , she thought, hefting the bag she carried from the very place he slept. Still, she savoured the rich smell of the fruit, the shadows of the flowers they once were. Frolises were her favourite.

At the top of the trellis, she leaned back from the wall, feet locked into the interwoven wooden bands, and fired her hookshot over the far side. She heard the end hit, fastened it, and continued scaling the wall.

Heaving herself onto the allure, the figure remained crouching, sliding behind the parapet. The moon was not her ally, not here. She pulled on the hookshot and refitted it to her side, scanning along the walkway and the gardens below. Nothing seemed—

A small dart struck the parapet beside her. Looking up, beyond the gardens to the roof of the east wing she had just fled from, she spotted her would-be assailant. It was too far to see her clearly, but that didn't matter. As the other figure slipped off the roof, climbing down the wall by its window ledges, the figure atop the outer wall leaped off her own perch.

For a second time that night she took a breath as she fell, but where the first brought the cool of freedom, this one left the sour taste of pursuit. More so without the frolises. She grimaced through her cowl.

Down the wall she again retracted her hookshot and bolted down the escarpment. The grassy hillside dropped suddenly into a grey brick wall. Not bothering to repel down like before—time was of the essence—she jumped, this time for distance, readying her hookshot to fire at the church steeple waiting for her at the base of the escarpment. _In Nayru we trust_ , she mused as she swung out around the church, creating as much drag as possible to slow descent. Landing softly on the church roof, she kicked off, not wasting her momentum as the tail of her hookshot trailed to meet her at twice her speed. She worried about the clanking of the metal on the tin rooftop but decided there was no helping it. Her pursuer would guess she'd make it this far. What she did now was what mattered.

Thinking quickly, she turned back around to the East Quarter. The North Quarter contained a multitude of haphazardly constructed buildings, narrow alleys, and empty rooms to squat in, making it ideal but also too obvious for one to steal away into the night in. Clinging to the wall towards the West Quarter would leave her too exposed. So that left the east.

The buildings were more moderately spaced, the streets wider, but the buildings were also taller, and their rooftops were more often tin and cedar than the slippery clay tiles of the South Quarter. Perfect for covering wide distances from above if you have the right equipment.

But first she would have to get around the corner of the escarpment to escape the eye of her pursuer. The figure jumped from roof to roof, slowly descending to the cobblestone below. Even in its poorest areas, New Hylia kept her streets well maintained, the facades washed clean and presentable to visiting dignitaries and less fortunate citizens looking for something to take pride in. On the blackest nights one could run in the dark for an hour and not trip—lest they hit a wall first. The running figure, cautious of being seen before she could escape being seen altogether, navigated the dark streets as if it were day.

As she rounded the corner of the escarpment wall, she paused to catch her breath inside a narrow side-street. Below her quiet panting she listened for a sign of her pursuer. All she could make out was panting of another sort behind the glass window of the wall she crouched beneath. She smirked, despite herself, and continued her flight.

Crawling onto a rooftop a few blocks to the south, another dart struck the cedar shingles with a loud thud, this one even closer than the last. The runner did not spare the time to look back. She cursed under her breath and took off across the open route before her. She deftly dodged the small projectiles as they were thrown with increasing regularity. Each time she put a taller building between her and her pursuer, she would have mere seconds before nearly taking a dart to the ankle or leg.

Not paying attention to where she was heading, the figure found herself before Sage Rauru's Square. Before her lay two acres of patterned stone, a wide basin stretching out before the city's grandest cathedral. She was effectively cornered. Unless.

She looked back, catching a quick glimpse of movement behind a chimney two houses back and slipped off the roof, catching a balcony and an awning to slow her fall. She broke into a run across the square, the basin directly before her. She made no effort to circumnavigate the obstacle—there would be no time for that. She needed shelter and a place get away. The cathedral had multiple doors on every side, far enough apart to be impossible to watch all at once. But that meant nothing if she could not reach the doors before getting shot down. As she reached the edge of the basin she did not round its rim nor wade its waters. She put one foot in front of the other and kept running across the still surface. For the first time that night she felt tired. Mana drained from her body through the soles of her feet, keeping her from sinking but spending far more energy than it would take to walk through the cold water. _Nayru bless these legs of mine, that they keep me up a little longer_ , she prayed silently, quickly reaching the far side of the pool. The drain ceased but her body still felt as if it weighed twice as much as it did before. She was not used to using magic, but she accomplished what she meant to. There would be time, if little, for rest in the church.

She cleared the remaining distance between her and the cathedral steps. Breathing heavily she sprinted, restless to be free from pursuit. Atop the steps, across the dias, she took all of three wide steps, pouncing on the wide doors. She grabbed the handle firmly and—

“Locked?” she was stunned. She shook the handle fiercely. Nothing. She grabbed the other door and tried the same, to no avail. Panicked and exhausted she threw her full weight against the hardwood threshold. The doors would not budge. But then, she was only thirteen: there wasn't much weight to throw. She sighed and fell against the sealed doors. Between catching her breath she managed to say aloud, “How did you know I'd go south?”

Her pursuer casually mounted the steps, as if she hadn't been chasing the young girl all over the city for the last hour. In the moonlight, the panting girl could only see the white of the woman's long braid, the violet outline of her traditional Shiekah shadowgear hugging her athletic body. A small pouch, still half-full of darts, hung open, tied to her waist.

“I did not,” she said thoughtfully, settling herself down across from her pupil. “I waited from atop the wall and watched you turn. Wise to turn that way, but not so soon.” She frowned. “And from there you grew sloppy. Never devote yourself to a single escape route if you do not know it will work for certain. And magic. I did not teach you what little I know so you can face drowning instead of capture. Perhaps I should not have.”

The girl hid her face deeper inside her cowl. Impa raised her hand to pull back the dark grey cloth, revealing in the weak light a pale face, the face of her ward.

“However,” she went on, “where there was recklessness there was also calculation, and each mistake still showed skills beyond even a Shiekah girl at your age. I gave you the _ku'chin_ two months past and already you use it as an extension of yourself. Calculation and adaptability. These are seeds of wisdom, and are crucial in a leader. But please,” she squeezed the girl's shoulder, “leave the recklessness to the reckless, the bold who will be your sword. You are no sword, Princess. You are a shield, between Hyrule and her enemies. You cannot deny your people their security. Understand?”

Princess Zelda nodded, and looked her guardian in the eye out of respect. Impa protected her out of duty to her late mother, Queen Lydia. But that said little of their relationship. Impa was like a second mother to Zelda, as well as a sister, a devoted servant, a knowledgeable instructor, and a wise ear. As soon as she was old enough, Impa began training her to protect herself, to care for her people not only out of duty but out of compassion, and with sincerity. To be the sort of leader historians want to write about, whom citizens love and are comforted by, and deters enemies of the realm simply by merit of her being. And if that fails, to route them with minimal casualties. Zelda was young, but she knew who she was, and Impa knew as well.

“You have heard my two rupees, now tell me Princess: what is in your bag?”

“Oh this?” Zelda said warily, and then giggled. “I honestly forgot! During the chase, I mean. Maybe I'll show you next time.” She winked, knowing Impa's red Shiekah eyes could see even in the shadowed entrance. The Shiekah were known as the 'Shadow Tribes' for good reason.

“I don't dislike secrets, Princess. If only because they never stay secret from me for long.”

“Perhaps I will tell you if—,” she paused, catching the faint echo of a song coming from inside the cathedral. It was dull and numbed by the stone and wood, but it sounded familiar. She tilted her head, pressing her ear to the wood. It was so vague, but she felt herself anticipating every note before it played. Which was strange, since she couldn't even tell what instrument played the notes.

“Princess?” Impa pressed. “What is it?”

“Oh. Just,” she paused. “I will tell you if you open this door.” Impa eyed her up and down. Zelda just stared. Surely if she could hear the music, Impa could. But she gave no sign. The Shiekah sighed and crouched before the locked doors, pulling out a reserved dart and a small tool from another pocket.

“Do not look, Princess. If you learned how to sneak out of locked rooms going into your adolescence your father would have my thumbs.” There was a click before Zelda could even steal a glance. Not that she hadn't thought of it before.

The music still played softly through the door. She stood and replaced Impa's hand at the handle, turned it, opened the door.

Silence. The inside of Sage Rauru's cathedral was as devoid of sound as it was of light, only the echoed creaking of the door to greet the moonbeams slicing through the stained glass windows.

“Princess?”

“It's nothing, Impa. I just thought I had heard something.” She turned to leave, but her guardian clutched the strap of her sac.

“Oh?” she mused.

“Next time,” Zelda smiled. “I promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay--forgot this was a thing I was doing. 
> 
> Not sure if I've fully got a hold of Zelda's character just yet—there wasn't a lot of dialogue in this one because I wanted the first look at Zelda to be of her being active, using magic, and learning to be a badass ninja. Her next appearance will focus more on the other side of her life, with more dialogue and glimpses into her character.
> 
> Next chapter will return to Kokiri Village and will be a much longer one in apology for this week's tardiness.


	3. Chapter 3: Discordant Harmony

 

### 

Chapter Three: Discordant Harmony

 

Link did not leave her house again for three days. It felt like longer.

At first she tried to sleep, but each time she opened up to a dream she heard the screams of her friend, saw the glowing eyes of the Skull Kid, To. The Deku-Baba . . . .

By noon the next day all she could do was sleep. She faded in and out blackness, never feeling rested, needing just a few more hours each time. She was thankful, at least, for the blackness. If she did dream, she would rather not remember.

Brill started to grow concerned by the morning of the second day. He nudged her, trying to coax her out gently, lest he agitate her into never leaving again. Link did not appear able to hear him. So she continued to slumber, slipping between the shadow of wakefulness and the pure darkness of sleep.

By the third dawn, Brill made contact. He had been talking to himself for hours, describing the shape of a colour without using any objects for comparison, counting the knots in the wood of the treehouse. Nothing in particular. He sat by the window, reciting what he saw.

“The creek bubbles every third ripple by the small bend where the reeds are thin, if undisturbed. I don't understand that term for a creek—it's always flowing anyway, even if something is in it. Does the creek really disagree with things in it so much? Why does it feed the reeds then? Or carry food for fishes? Oh, that's too many bubbles! Someone must be coming from upstream. Ah yes, there's Brada and Frit. Wonder what they're up to? Looks like . . . Elm? Why is she talking to the weapon scrub?”

Link stirred at the sound of her friend's name, but turned back over, closing her eyes once more. Brill noticed and hovered over her ear.

“Link. . .,” he said softly. “Something's going on outside. I think Brada is about to do something reckless. You should go talk to her.”

Link let out a yawn. It was the first time since going to bed she was awake enough to manage it, and the activity in her jaw woke her up even more. She stared dazedly at the wall beside her bed, trying not to think through what she was taking in. It didn't work.

“Reckless how?” she mumbled. She stretched her legs under her blanket.

“She's talking Elm,” said Brill. His colour brightened at Link's voice. He floated back to the window. “I think—no, now she's walking away in a huff. She's coming this way though. You can catch her if you hurry.”

Link eased herself upright, stretching out the bed sores. How long had she been out? She felt awful. She wanted to go back to sleep. But she looked over at Brill. He looked worried, not just for Brada. Link sighed, climbed out of bed, and finished her stretch.

“Then we should go see what's going on.”

Brill did not say anything. He jut let out a glimmer and followed the Kokiri out the door.

By the time Link reached Elm's scrub-bush, Brada was holding a small sword above a small crowd of Kokiri,exciting them into a frenzy.

“We will not cower in our beds,” Brada roared, “while monsters lurk in the night!”

“We will not cower!” chanted the Kokiri.

“We will avenge our sister and hunt down every Skull Kid in this forest!”

“Hunt them down!”

“We will never need to fear a missing friend ever again!

“Never fear!” Link noticed Saria shouting above the rest, front and centre. Even Coz seemed to be frenzied by Brada's rallying cries. Link clenched her fist, hardened her resolve, and stepped into the heart of the fold. Saria noticed her first.

“Link!” she started, inching forward, enough for the polished iron dagger at her side to catch the mid-morning sun. Saria grimaced as she saw Link's eyes lower, lowering her own when they rose up to meet hers.

“What's going on, Saria?” Link asked. “Why does everyone seem ready for battle?”

Brada, noticing the shift in attention, spoke first. “Because we're at war!”

“War?” The word felt foreign on Link's tongue. She could not place how she knew the word,but the weight of it plummeted inside her.

“Of course!” said Brada. “War with the Skull Kids! They think they can pick us off, feed us to the Deku-Baba? For fun?” She was speaking out to the crowd—no, the mob.

“And what will you do to stop them?” Link inquired. The image of the one called La, the tree stump smashed apart, held in her mind. “Swing your swords and knives at them? Throw Deku Nuts while they sit there and let you?” She poked Brada hard in the chest. “What is that sword going to do when it's sunk in the mud while you're held in the air by those wooden monsters they summon?What—“

“They took—they killed Shina, Link....” Saria held herself close, eyes wet. “You know why. We have to.”

“Saria,” Link was taken aback. She could see fear in her friend's eyes. Fear and exhaustion. _I've been holed up for three days. What must she have gone through? I should have..._. Link looked away.

“You should come with us Link,” piped up Fado, from behind Saria.

“We would feel safer with more of us,” added Mido, beside him.

Link glanced to them and saw the same tired fear as in Saria, then to Brada who held only resolve and anger at the surface. It was directed at Link, there. Link came back to her senses.

“Does the Great Deku Tree know about this, Brada?”

“The Great Deku Tree knows what happened to Shina and has done _nothing_.”

“Then nothing is what we should do.”

Fado and Mido hunched down together. Coz, who before was ecstatic from Brada's rallying, hovered low at Saria's ear; Saria was caught between distress and disappointment. Silence spread across the crowd of Kokiri, as if they only then became aware of what they were doing. Only Brada retained the momentum from before.

“If you would do nothing,” she said bitingly, “then do nothing. Let the Skull Kids come and take you away like they did Shina. Because they _will_ take more of us,” she gestured to the crowds once more. Heads perked up and in a wink Link's words were forgotten. They were again captivated by Brada's call. “Will we let them?”

“No...” some mumbled as they found their rage once more.

“Will we let ourselves be frightened by ghosts in the trees like Deku scrubs by a campfire?”

“No!” they retorted, louder this time.

“No!” Brada affirmed. “We will take back these woods by any means necessary! We will show these Boogeys that we're not afraid to play their games! And when Kokiri play, we play to win!”

Brada raised her sword in the air once more and shouted in unison with her re-inspired audience. Daggers, knives, sticks, and slings were held up for display: more weapons than Link could remember seeing in one place her whole life. With a flourish of her sword Brada motioned the Kokiri to follow her towards the Lost Woods. Saria, Fado, and Mido lingered a moment longer, sharing one last look with Link, before following Coz and the others in the crowd. Stum and Chum, orange glows paled by resignation, held still the longest before carrying on behind their Kokiri. In moments, Link and Brill were alone. Mostly.

“That brat is so rude,” grumbled Elm, the weapon scrub. His leafy plumage was a deep maple-red and fanned out close to his scalp which was even with Link's waist. “I gave her a damn good deal and she has the seeds to call scrubs like me cowards? Kids these days have no respect!”

A silence lasted between them, briefly. Elm looked up at them, awaiting a rebuttal. Brill broke the quiet. “What kind of heartwoodless creeper sells weapons to children and has the gall to demand respect for it?” Elm shrivelled at the criticism and crept back into his bush.

Link stared after her friends, already gone from view. She felt strange, anxious almost. There was an energy within her that had always seemed tired, as if woken up too late but already waiting for bedtime. But now it stirred. All she knew were these woods and the fairies, Kokiri, and Deku who lived there. All of a sudden that foundation—her family, her home—all seemed to be moving to its own end at breakneck speed. She took a single step towards her friends, but then turned to the north.

“The Great Deku Tree,” muttered Link.

“What about him?” asked Brill.

“The Great Deku Tree protects us. All of us. Why couldn't he save Shina? And why let Brada coax most of the village to avenge her? Something isn't adding up.” Link's head ached trying to put things together. She had never been much of a doer, a participant but never a planner. A soft voice kept telling her to let things be, to go back to bed and wait out the trouble. But something sharper, like Brill in spirit but not quite, pulled her towards something else. Something entirely unknown to her.

“Link,” Brill gently landed on her shoulder. “Link, what do you think we should do?”

“We need to get answers.” Link turned her back on the Lost Woods and carried on to the centre of the Kokiri Forest.

 

The Great Deku Tree was by far the most immense thing Link knew of. Mountains, rivers, the ground she stood on: all were just large amounts of smaller parts. But the Great Deku Tree was just itself.

The Kokiri Forest was, like the Kokiri themselves, forever young. While not much younger than the oldest reaches of the Great Forest, it's canopy did not tower or shade the way old-growth forests do. Most trees stopped growing once satisfied with their height and those which continued to grow grew wide, not tall.

The Great Deku Tree was the exception. Standing alone above a hill made mostly of its own long-covered roots, the wizened Deku reached almost 300 times higher than Link herself did. It took longer to circle its base than it did to walk from Shina's house at the west side of the village to Morten's house at the east side. The branches of the Tree tangled together far above and, even in winter, held on, hiding the heights in vermilion mystery.

There was no intentional path up the mound of litter and grass, but most approached the face of the Tree by way of an exposed root that conveniently led there from the edge of the village. The face of the Great Deku Tree was knotted and darkened and never moved save very severe circumstances. Where the scrubs had faelight in their eyes the Tree's were coated over by bark, seeing in all directions at once without the need for light of any kind. Although it had a mouth, it spoke through the groaning of his limbs and the rustle of his leaves, aping the sounds of a deep, caring voice.

Link climbed to the spot just below that petrified face, Brill huffing and puffing in solidarity. A sense of deja vu overcame her, an image of herself petitioning the Great Deku Tree before, lifetimes ago. But time was fuzzy to a Kokiri, and the memory slipped from her mind. She took a deep breath and got down to what she came to do.

“Great Deku Tree,” she called up to the sky. “Your children have taken arms against the Skull Kids! They blame them for— for the death of Shina, our friend! They're going to get themselves hurt or worse! Why have you let this happen!?”

As the words left her mouth, Link realized how she must sound. Was it fair to accuse their guardian of failing to prevent what was the choice of someone else? A silence gathered long enough to be felt, then was dispelled.

_“What passes in these woods is not by my will alone, small one. No will below the Goddess is so powerful as that_.” The bass of the Great Deku Tree's words permeated Link's body. She felt it in her heart as it beat, in her lungs as she inhaled their meaning.

“Then who wills it?” Link cried. “Brada is rash, and Saria compassionate, but neither are spiteful. Is it the Skull Kids?”

“ _The Skull Kids are as vital to this forest as you are, small one,_ ” the branches shook and swayed. “ _They are one part of a cycle that makes keeps Farore's light in the world, keeps life moving forward for all of Hyrule. I could never condone what they did to the small one, Shina, nor the retaliation of the Kokiri now._ ”

“They are. . . vital?” Link was confused. Brill hummed, uneasy. “How are we . . . vital?”

“ _You have forgotten what all Kokiri forget, small one. I will not force you to remember. Be soothed, Brill: your light is undimmed._ ” The blue fairie shook away his unease and nodded.

“She can know, I think,” said Brill. “I've felt something new through our link. I think . . . no. She's ready. A few days ago maybe not. But today, I feel Her.”

Link noticed the emphasis Brill put on 'her' like he wasn't talking about her, Link. Link stared askance at her fairy, and the Deku Tree continued.

“ _Eras past, when this world was new, three Golden Goddesses blessed these lands with gifts and magic. Farore, last of these sisters, created life, giving it beginnings and ends and a promise of more so long as her gift is respected. Her most proud children were the Deku and the Kokiri, keepers of the forests and lands from whence she spread her precious gift to the world. But as she followed her sisters away from this world, she saw a vision of her children, lost and, one day, gone from this world. She cried tears of pure life down on the lands that would become Hyrule, which were the fairies: slivers of the Goddess. The fairies would keep the Kokiri, and the Kokiri would keep the Deku, and all would continue on in bliss and harmony for all time._

“ _But death comes even to those who are untouched by time,_ ” the Great Deku Tree trembled. “ _The first Kokiri perished centuries after the Goddess left this plane. I watched it happen, a sprout then, no taller than where you know stand. The fairy, Horus, was his keeper, and went mad with grief seeing her Kokiri gone. The forest reclaimed the body and the first Skull Kid was born. The power of the bond between fairy and Kokiri can stir the smallest agency of the soul. The Great Fairy, Xibala of the Wood, calmed Horus into sleep, awaiting the day he may bond another._

_“Hylians, children of Nayru and wards of Hylia, her daughter, expanded to the edges of the Great Forest, but the wood was an impregnable unknown to them. Children would wander in and become lost, lose themselves to the mists which grew thick with their own legends. They would rise again as Skull Kids, taking parts of the forest itself with them to fill the parts of them they lost. More Kokiri fell to the accidents of an endless childhood and soon there were more children of the skull than those of the fae. With every passing Kokiri, the Deku of the wood became deranged, first at the fringes, then in the village itself. Deku who had forgotten themselves, forgotten the Goddess, struck down Kokiri and fairies alike. I called to Xibala who harboured the fairies who'd lost their bonds._

_“Her answer saved the wood.”_ The Great Deku Tree paused. Great winds had begun to rustle his sturdy boughs. Leaves fell softly before their time.

“Deku-Baba don't come into the village,” Link said. She was trying hard to process what the Deku Tree had revealed but it was hard. She had only just awakened, it seemed, and now the world was delivered to her faster than she could take it in. “Kokiri don't. . . .” _But Shina did_. Kokiri die. Link could die. It was Brill who kept her alive. Her eyes widened as she stared at the blue fairy, his pulsing glow suggesting a comforting smile.

“The Skull Kid who . . . who killed Shina. He wanted her fairy. What happens when he catches Hori?”

“When a fairy bonds with a child of the forest,” said Brill carefully, “that child becomes Kokiri.”

Link's body flashed with cold. Her head exploded with visions and she fell to the ground, holding her head in her hands. Skull kids surrounded by manikins, the ground around them smashed. Children alive and golden one moment, pale and still the next. Ruin, decay, fire. Brill flitted about her frantically.

“Oh no, it was too soon!” Brill relented. “We never do this! Why did I think it was okay to do this? Oh Link, talk to me!”

Link's eyes clouded over with tears she could barely see Brill through. _Was I Skull Kid? Did I die? Who was I? Who am I? What. . . . Before. . . before . . . ._

A bright light flashed, electric but felt somewhere beyond her. Link was on her side. The sun had fallen some from its peak. Her head was numb, but she didn't know why. Brill sat on her out-stretched arm, staring at her with deep concern.

“What. . .,” Link groggily sat up. “Why am I . . . Saria!” Link shook her head and stood before the Great Deku Tree. Brill hovered close, over her shoulder just out of view.

“ _She and the other small ones approach the puppeteer.”_ Faelight emerged from the grass above the Deku Trees sunken roots, leading somewhere in the Lost Woods. _“I see them, Link, but only you and Brill can keep them safe. Go to them, bridge the divide, maintain the balance of the wood.”_

Link nodded and hurried into the forest, Brill at her side. She couldn't put together what had happened just before but it wasn't important. Not like her friends being in trouble. Link could feel something heavy in her bond with Brill. _It can wait_ , she thought.

The lights thinned as they ran into the Lost Woods, further from the source of their power. The roots of the Great Deku Tree criss-crossed the entire Great Forest, so they wouldn't go completely out before Link reached her friends.

“Link. . .,” Brill floated in front of Link as she ran, not changing speed or direction.

“Yeah, Brill?” Link panted.

“Please, just. Just don't get hurt.”

“No one is going to get hurt,” Link smiled. “I promise.”

Link almost stumbled as she heard shouting in the clearing up ahead. Directly before her, Fado and Mido hid beneath a large boulder.

“Link!” they breathed in unison. Stum and Chum flickered, wordless. Link pressed a finger to her lips and slid silently behind the stone.

Peering around the boulder, she watched a scene from a nightmare unfolding. Morten and Wilda were pressed up against a wide oak, while Brada lay sprawled out on the forest floor. Floating above her, a Skull Kid's manikin clutched Saria who, Brada's sword in hand, swung wildly at her captor. The Skull Kid, La, hummed and danced on a low branch across the clearing, the tune rising and failing at random.

“Why won't it play with me,” La asked. “To got to play with the other fairy girl. I want to play too!” The Skull Kid huffed and puffed, danging more and more aggressively.

Link slid back beside the cowering brothers. “Brill, how much can a fairy lift?”

“Um, not much, I'm afraid,” Brill murmured. “A few of us could lift something small, like a Deku nut if it was dried out.”

“How many would it take to carry that sword over?”

“More than are here.” Link stared into space. She had to think, but thinking like this was new to her. The Skull Kid hummed furiously in the background, at last blowing loudly into his pipes. Link and the others winced. Link peeked out from behind the rock once more. The loud piping became more erratic and the manikin started what Link assumed must be dancing, swinging Saria around like an unstrung puppet. It shook her so hard, a small glinting object was flung from her hip satchel, settling in the grass a few yards from the unconscious Brada. Link got an idea.

“Brill, Stum, Chum,” Link whispered as she came back around. “I need you to gather the other fairies and be a distraction.” Brill looked more eager than her pumpkin-hued friends as Link told them her plan. “Once there's an opening,” Link said, this time to Fado and Mido, “I need you two to rush out and carry Brada back to safety. The Great Deku Tree left a trail of faelight so we won't get lost. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Fado.

“I think so,” said Mido.

“Good. Brill, lead the way.”

The blue fairy flew into the clearing, first to Frit, then to Coz. Stum and Chum went the other way, to Morten and Wilda, or more specifically, Cayin and Clov. Soon, all seven fairies danced in a ring around the manic Skull Kid, gathering his attention. La slowed his rhythm only slightly, but the manikin, which had been thrashing, instead started to spin more intentionally and with less abandon.

The fairies took their dance to the centre of the clearing, spinning and tumbling to the melody that emerged from the chaos of before. Link swallowed hard and crept low to the ground. She was aware of the Skull Kid watching her but La kept playing, more amused by the dancing balls of light. Saria, her eyes strained shut from crying, continued to grip the sword while the manikin swung her to and fro. But Link wasn't going for the sword anymore.

In the centre of the clearing now, almost within reach of Brada, Link recognized the song being played as the one from before. But more than that, it felt familiar in another sense. She picked up Saria's ocarina which had fallen from her satchel, and began to play in counterpoint, just as the Skull Kid, Ro, had. Though she had never played that song before, the Lost Woods themselves seemed to play their own song through her. It repeated like the too-similar trees, but haunted like the fog in the twilight. There was a softer refrain but throughout a manic energy, like being chased away from yourself. And there was fun in it. Fun without end. Link found her own legs moving, following the fairies in their ring, passing dangerously close to the manikin and the armed Saria.

La hopped down from his perch and danced opposite Link in the circle, his pipes playing faster or slower than Link who remained the steady breeze, the constant presence of the Woods. They spun for what felt like both hours and a moment and, like thunder, silence rippled across the clearing.

Saria fell from above as the manikin fled from their view. Link caught her and laid her down gently. Saria blinked her puffy eyes before passing out completely. Link smiled. _You're safe_. _You're allsafe_. She turned her attention to the others in the clearing. The Skull Kid took that attention back.

“Not bad, fairy girl,” he said. His voice was that casual jog it was the afternoon Link first saw him. Whatever had possessed him seemed long passed. “Not great, a little too steady, not enough free-rhythm. But still fun.” La was completely unapologetic, speaking as though all of the events leading up to that moment were perfectly common. In a blur of dried leaves the Skull Kid disappeared, reappearing in a flash before Morten and Wilda. “But you! Would it have killed you to dance a little?”He jabbed his finger—a boney fingertip attached to a couple twigs—at both of them before pointing back at Link and the fairies. “ _They_ know how to party!” In a second flurry of leaves, he was gone.

 

The weary Kokiri stumbled back into the village. Brada sagged between Fado and Mido, Frit silently in time with Stum and Chum behind; her legs would not support her but her feet still worked fine. Link hoped she'd be back to herself soon.

Link supported Saria with one arm as they reached the end of the Great Deku Tree's path. The dwindling sunlight still caught the leaves of the Deku Tree. To Link, they were a welcoming sight, a viridian sun itself aligning the village with the safety of day. Either by exhaustion or some unknown emotion, Saria did not look up when Link did. Coz almost seemed to hide.

Saria's house was built into the side of a small hill by the river beneath a wide willow tree. Link and Saria slipped through the reed-woven portière. Saria wordlessly crawled to her cot, curled beneath her rough-spun blanket, and fell asleep, Coz settling down on the table beside her. Much of the weight on Link's heart faded as she saw her friend safe and still. But something lingered there: more than a worry but less than a fear. Link departed for her own treehouse.

“Hey Brill?”

“What is it?” The fairy sounded distracted but compassionate.

“Will everything go back to normal now?”

“That's hard to say,” Brill sighed. “Something like this has never happened before. Almost everyone in the Great Forest is calm and secure and always have been. This was,” his voice faltered. “This was the first time I can remember being afraid.”

Link went quiet for a while, following the river in the dim twilight. “Brill? Have I ever been afraid?”

“That's a silly question,” chided Brill. He still sounded distracted. “Why would I know better than you?”

“I can't remember being afraid, but I can't . . .. It's hard to put into words.” She put her hands behind her head and rubbed the backs of her ears with her thumbs. “I can't remember not remembering before. It's like if I always knew everything I know, how did I know it the first time? I know what fear is, but I don't remember being afraid, so how do I know? Is this my first time feeling it? Will I forget this too?”

“I don't know, Link. I just don't know.”

Brill was definitely hiding something, Link thought. She believed him, but she knew him well enough to know he wasn't being forthright. _But how do I know that?_ Link pondered. They were walking away from the river and up the path to Link's treehouse.

“Brill? How long have we known each other?” Brill stumbled in midair.

“What's brought on these questions?” Brill was troubled. “We've known each other forever.”

“How long is that?” Link asked, only then realizing she'd never wondered about time before. “And how long is something that long? In nights?”

“I don't think I can answer that,” said Brill. “More nights than there are Kokiri in this village. And fairies, and Skull Kids and Deku. Forever is . . . forever is as long a time as can have happened.”

“Huh,” Link stopped halfway up the ladder. “So tomorrow, will Saria and Brada remember how scared they were today? If it's the most afraid they've been in forever, they'd remember, right?”

“Do you want them to remember.” Brill posed the question like an answer.

“I don't know. No? I don't think so. I don't think they would want to either.”

Link climbed up the rest of the way.

“Do you want to remember?” Brill asked.

“I think I will,” said Link, crossing the threshold of her home. “There's something about today that feels different from yesterday.” She kicked off her boots and fell onto her cot. Brill landed on her bedpost.

“But do you want to?”

“I don't think that's my choice,” said Link through a yawn. If Brill had anything else to ask, it would have to wait until morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure why the first chapter's notes ended up here but whatever. Update coming soon--would've been far sooner but I lost my hard-drive back in November and with it my outline and the first half of chapter four. I'm about 1k into the new one and remember most of the main points from the outline (it was about 9k so there's probably loads of details I'm now going to be missing) so we'll see where this goes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading chapter 1! Chapters will be posted every other Friday unless I get swamped by other responsibilities. Link Chapters are longer and more plentiful since she's the main POV of this arc. Next chapter will introduce our Hylian princess. I'm open to criticism so please leave a comment if you want!


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